ord, boys, why I'd stay till mornin, but
I'd a got them, sarten. Well, the drake I killed flyin' I couldn't find
him that night, no how, for the stream swept him down, and I hadn't got
no guide to go by, so I let him go then, but I was up next mornin'
bright and airly, and started up the stream clean from the bridge here,
up through Garry's backside, and my boghole, and so on along the meadows
to Aunt Sally's run--and looked in every willow bush that dammed the
waters back, like, and every bunch of weeds, and brier-brake, all the
way, and sure enough I found him, he'd been killed dead, and floated
down the crick, and then the stream had washed him up into a heap of
broken sticks and briers, and when the waters fell, for there had been a
little freshet, they left him there breast uppermost--and I was glad to
find him--for I think, Archer, as that shot was the nicest, prettiest,
etarnal, darndest, long good shot, I iver did make, anyhow; and it was
so dark I couldn't see him."

"A sweet shot, Tom," responded Forester, "a sweet pretty shot, if there
had only been one word of truth in it, which there is not--don't answer
me, you old thief--shut up instantly, and get your traps; for we've done
feeding, and you've done lying for the present, at least I hope so--and
now we'll out, and see whether you've poached up all the game in the
country."

"Well, it be gettin' late for sartain," answered Tom, "and that'll save
your little wax skin for the time; but see, jest see, boy, if I doesn't
sarve you out, now, afore sundown!"

"Which way shall we beat, Tom," asked Harry, as he changed his riding
boots for heavy shooting shoes and leggins; "which course to-day?"

"Why, Timothy's gittin' out the wagon, and we'll drive up the old road
round the ridge, and so strike in by Minthorne's, and take them ridges
down, and so across the hill--there's some big stubbles there, and nice
thick brush holes along the fence sides, and the boys does tell us there
be one or two big bevies--but, cuss them, they will lie!--and over back
of Gin'ral Bertolf's barns, and so acrost the road, and round the upper
eend of the big pond, and down the long swamp into Hell hole, and Tim
can meet us with the wagon at five o'clock, under Bill Wisner's white
oak--does that suit you?"

"Excellently well, Tom," replied Harry, "I could not have cut a better
day's work out myself, if I had tried. Well, all the traps are in, and
the dogs, Timothy, is it not so?"

"E